and i’m looking out the window,
making up stories for the jackets walking by,
remembering faces and places and footsteps,
running,
pounding out my toe’s unconscious
musical beat on the worn away
hardwood floors.
i hope they don’t replace them
with plastic sheets of fake wood.
although i almost cried five
thousand times
(driving around the peninsula
dubbed Olympic
for its greatness)
truck after truck after truck
log after log after fucking log i never
knew they could remove so many
in one day.
one hour.
one six hour car ride and i think
i saw more rotting stumps than trees.


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